The brief autumn twilight was settling into dark when Anthony left the tavern. He trudged toward Front Street at a good pace; the Trenton stage was midway in the block above Mulberry Street, and he had no trouble in finding the house of Dr. King--a wide, well-kept building of red brick with white stone steps and hitching-post, and black, varnished rails. Dr. King greeted him cordially and led him into a thickly carpeted room, with Eastern hangings, and a chandelier, glittering with a score of wax-lights. Mrs. King was a tall woman, stately, with a fine-cut face and an ease of manner not usual with women of the young republic. "I knew your mother," she told Anthony. "A beautiful, dark creature, who loved your father." She searched his face with her quiet eyes. "No," she said, "you don't look in the least like her. You resemble your grandfather; you have his way of holding your head; you have the same strong-looking body, and the same long face." Anthony smiled at this, and she added quickly: "I was wrong; _that_ is your mother's; and I'm very glad to see it. It's a fine thing to be a man like old Rufus Stevens; but, at the same time, a little softness does not come amiss." There were some others in the room, and she led Anthony forward. "Mr. Anthony Stevens," she said, "a nephew of Charles." To Anthony she added: "Mr. Whitaker, and Mr. Sparhawk." Both these gentlemen arose and shook Anthony by the hand. Whitaker was about his own age, very handsome, with a great head of curling hair and snappy dark eyes. He was something of a dandy; his fine neck-cloth was of amazing height and stiffness; his buckskin pantaloons were so tight about the knees that one wondered how he moved; his claret-colored coat had a huge roll to both collar and lapels, and his waistcoat was of corded silk, with wide flaps over the pockets. "It's a great pleasure to see you," said this young gentleman, examining Anthony with a careful and rather approving eye. "Didn't know Stevens had a nephew. Don't think I ever heard him say." Sparhawk was about sixty, a small, perky man, in knee shorts, and with white powder dusted into his hair. He was dry of manner, with a shrewd, yet kindly, eye; there was no man in the port held in higher esteem among merchants. When there was a question of insurances, one went to Sparhawk; and the adjustments he made were always reckoned fair and worthy, and the best that could be done for all concerned. "You would be Robert's son," said he. "I recall you well as a boy. A very active boy," to the others. "Given to such things as diving from the rigging of any ship in the docks he managed to get aboard of." When they had settled down once more, Whitaker crossed his tightly clad legs and said: "You'll not like it here. It's a devil of a place, I find. Since I came back I can think of nothing but getting away again." Mrs. King laughed amusedly. "I'm afraid, Tom," she said, "they spoiled you by keeping you so long in foreign parts."